I really want to ask him what his plans are; what he’ll do if he does sell the shop, and where he’s planning on living if the flat that . But Martin’s presence makes the shop feel smaller than ever, so I file the questions away for later, sensing I’m not going to get very far with them for now.
“Why don’t you head out for a bit?” Dad says kindly. “Go and get some fresh air. Speak to young Elliot. I can hold the fort here.”
We both know the ‘fort’ really doesn’t require much in the way of ‘holding’ these days, and I do really want to see Elliot, so I can talk all of this over with him, so, after a moment’s hesitation, during which Dad reaches out and almost pushes me towards the door, I hold my hands up in surrender
“Okay, okay,” I say, going to collect my coat from its hook. “I’m going. But wewillbe talking about this later. And we need to do something about this, too,” I add, looking at the little Christmas tree in the window, which looks even sadder than it did yesterday, with the evil elf still peeking out from the box of decorations which have been left next to it. “Maybe I could get some lights for it while I’m out?”
“Do that,” says Dad, nodding. “That will be lovely, I’m sure.”
I look at him doubtfully, still unconvinced by this positive new persona I’m sure he’s putting on. But he’s already turning away to speak to Martin about his email, so I wait another few seconds, just to make sure he isn’t planning to burst into tears as soon as I’m gone, then I pull on my coat and head out into the snow to find Elliot.
Because if anyone can make me feel better about all of this, Elliot can.
“Maybe you should take him at his word?” Elliot says, a short while later, once I’ve finally tracked him down at The Brew, where he’s busy working on his book. “Maybe he really has been thinking about selling up for a while? Maybe he genuinely does think it would be a good thing for you to come to Florida for Christmas.”
He gives me one of his very twinkliest smiles, but I’m too distracted by thoughts of Dad to give it the attention it deserves.
“I don’t know,” I say, chewing nervously on the end of the pencil he’s given me to make some notes on his latest pages. “I’m not sure I can believe him. He seemed … different.”
“Different how?”
Elliot pushes his laptop aside so he can concentrate on me fully. I love the way he does that. I love the way he always makes me feel like everything I have to say to him is of the utmost importance; whether it’s my opinion on a TV show we’ve both watched, or — as in this case — my complicated feelings about my father’s abrupt personality transplant.
“I’m not sure. He was being weird,” I reply, feeling stupid. “I felt like he was just telling me what he wanted me to hear.”
“Maybe he was,” Elliot says softly.
I blink up at him, surprised. I’d been expecting him to disagree with me; to reassure me that Dad was 100% on the level when he told me he really wanted me to go to America. But here he is, agreeing with the very thing I wanted him to argue with me about.
“Isn’t that what parents do?” he goes on. “Good ones, anyway. They do what they think’s best for their kids, even if it’s not what’s best for them. My mom used to get up at 7 am every Sunday morning to drive me and my brothers to soccer practice. And she once let us raid her makeup bag for our Halloween costumes, even though she was 90% sure Seth would try to eat some of it. And he did. Anyway, it sounds to me like that’s probably what your dad’s doing right now. Not eating makeup, obviously, just … trying to put you first.”
“But I don’t want to befirst,” I wail, making a little girl at the next table look over at me with wide-eyed interest. “I wanteveryoneto be first. I want to do what’s best for all of us. Wait: you played soccer?”
Yet another thing I didn’t know about him. Maybe not amassivelyimportant one, granted … but still.
“Yeah. For years. But seriously, Holly; your dad’s right. Itwouldbe selfish of him to try to guilt you into spending the rest of your life in the bookstore, if that’s not what you want to do.”
“Like your dad trying to guilt you into becoming a lawyer?” I shoot back, feeling like I need to defend dad suddenly.
Elliot scratches his head as if he’s thinking.
“Well, yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Yeah. You’re right. We should be able to live our lives however we like. Sounds to me like your dad just realized that first. Maybe we should follow his lead.”
I gnaw at the end of the pencil until it almost falls off.
“I’ll do you a deal,” I say at last. “I will if you will. I’ll stop working for my dad and come to America for Christmas if you tellyourdad you don’t want to work for him, either. That’s only fair, right?”
Elliot doesn’t answer for so long I start to think I shouldn’t have said it. But then he nods, his eyes meeting mine across the table.
“That’s only fair,” he agrees. “And I guess even if it does all go horribly wrong, and I end up causing a huge scene over Christmas dinner, at least I’ll have you there to comfort me afterwards.”
“Oh God, I wasn’t suggesting you should do it atdinner,” I reply, my stomach somersaulting at the thought of spending Christmas dinner with Elliot’s family. But the corners of his mouth twitch, and I realize he’s joking.
“Stop messing with me,” I say, punching him lightly on the arm. “This is serious, you know.”
“Oh, I know. It’s very serious. I’d never mess around with Christmas dinner. Once you’ve tasted my Mom’s mashed potatoes, you’ll know why.”
I punch him again, and he grins, then takes my hand; possibly to stop the punching.
